


Goosed!

by 74days



Series: Zimbits Meet-Cute Au's [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, M/M, Morning TV Show, NHL Player Jack Zimmermann, Professional Baker Eric Bittle, Twitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 17:06:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15369270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/74days/pseuds/74days
Summary: When the Stanley Cup winning Providence Falconers show up to film a TV segment in Eric Bittles kitchen, he's less than impressed with their broody co-captain, Jack Zimmerman. However, things may not be as simple as they seem, and soon enough... things change.





	Goosed!

Bitty grinned at the camera as he carefully cut out pastry strips that would become the lattice of the pie he was making. “Now, of course, you can make this as intricate or simple as possible - just remember that you’ll need at least one ‘vent’ for the hot air to escape or you’ll end up with a famous British ‘soggy bottom’ and no one wants that!” The audience laughed, right on time, which he still found a little creepy, but like, he guessed that was the magic of TV. He just had to make it look like he was funny and the production team would fill in the blanks for him. He looked over at his guest on the show - ‘the GBBO winner’ Nadiya who looked absolutely lovely under the lighting, her hijab colour matching his pocket square and bow tie to a T. The producers had been a bit wary of having her on the show as the mostly Southern audience might not respond well to her ‘unique style’ as they politely put it, but Eric had put his foot down. If they could cope with an openly gay man in the kitchen, they could cope with this, and so far, they had. Probably down to her fantastically lovely smile and down-to-earth personality. The fact that she was so _very_ British sounding helped too, he guessed. 

He had a hundred jokes he knew he wasn’t allowed to make on TV lined up about soggy bottoms but swallowed them back with a grin. He might get away with being a little more ribald with his friends, but not at 9am on the most popular morning show in America. 

“Why don’t we have a little ‘Bake Off’ challenge ourselves, Eric? Your lattice versus mine.” Nadiya suggested, right on time. Of course, it had all been planned in advance, but no one cared, as the audience let out a low “Ooooh” at the thought of Eric being beaten on his own show. 

He held up his hand to his heart and pulled out his best Southern Darlin’ voice he could muster as he smiled sweetly. “Well bless your heart,” - a round of slight chuckles that that camera would pick up but not enough to make it seem Eric was being too rude, such a fine line, he knew from experience - “I think you’ve got yourself a challenge, Ms Nadiya.”

* * *

 

He lost, of course. He hammed it up, looked suitably crestfallen, questioned his ability to continue on the show any longer (suitable booing from the audience that he waved away with a ‘oh stop you!’ and a little blush) and ended his segment. 

“Great show today, Eric,” March said, as she hurried past him. In the three years that Eric had been working on ‘Morning America’ he’d never seen her move slower than a jog. The fact she was able to do it in heels higher than Beyonce wore… he certainly didn’t want to cross her. “Loved the little call back you slipped in there, people are already comparing this show to the Ramsey one - great for youtube hits.” She said, handing three people folders and looking at her phone at the same time. “All pies have vanished from the production team breakroom already, so it’ll be another one for the board I think.”

Obviously, with the time restraints on the show, making, baking and cooling a pie from scratch was out of the question - so Eric normally had three on the go at once, timed perfectly to move his slot along without any hanging around. If a guest was around, that 3 became 6, and if they had already been eaten… He nodded with a smile, “I’ll let moomaw know her award winnin’ Cherry pie still has it.” He replied, which got him a wry smile in return. 

“You do that, Eric.” March said, fully aware that Eric spent months planning and testing any pie before he made it in his little kitchen set up. His backwater stories got eaten up by his viewers but March knew better. “I’ve got some requests in for Jams, now berry season is coming up, and apparently some story on the internet about neverending squash has caused a uptick in recipes.” She handed him a sheet of paper. “I’ve had the links emailed to you, but I thought you might like to see the diet restrictions of the next few guests we have on.” 

Bitty glanced over the list and sighed. Another couple of A-listers who could only eat a forkful of whatever he made on camera, a country music band his mamma loved (no alergies but a ‘dislike of garlic’ which he could work with) and a couple of people he’d have to look into. But one name caught his attention. “Birkholtz?” He asked, before March zoomed off to do whatever it was she was always doing - running the world, probably. 

“Uh-huh.” She looked at her phone again, Bitty knew that he was keeping her back. “Husband. Plays hockey for the Falconers. If they win the cup they’ll be on, and if they lose we’re going with Faith Hill. She’s got a new album out.” 

Bitty nodded. “Sorry for holdin’ ya back there, March.”

“Eric, for you, I’d sit down.” She said, with a wink and with another flurry of comments to others and a reshuffle of some papers she’d been handed - she was gone. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” Bitty said, looking down at the list. There it was. The name of his hero. His first ever serious crush. The first openly gay hockey player in the NHL - well…  **_joint_ ** openly gay player because he came out the same time as Kent Parson, but Bitty ignored that because the man once subtweeted him over damn latte art. His hero. The son of a skating  _ legend _ . His heart picked up, beating faster - the sound filling up his ears. “I’m gonna meet Tater Mashkov.”

* * *

 

“Promise me you’ll get him to sign it.” His mother said, pushing the book into his hands like it was the last baby off the Titanic. “Jack, get him to sign it. I’ve missed every single signing he’s ever done because of work and I’ll die, Jack.” She gave him a very pointed look. “I will _die_ if you miss this opportunity.”

His parents had found out about the ‘Morning America’ thing and had flown down specifically for this. Which was why his parents were in his apartment when he got back from Vegas the night before. At 5am in the morning.

“Taste everything.” Bob said, standing at the breakfast nook with the rest of the team, who had decided to descend on his apartment before heading over to the studio. “Everything. You’re uncle Mario got him to make a peach cobbler for his 60th and ate the fucking thing before the party even started. 2 pies sent up and no one got to even _smell_ it.”

Tater was nodding along, flipping through the recipe books that Alicia had pulled out of her travel case, trying to figure out what one she wanted Eric Bittle to sign. “He does Russian sections?” he said, looking up, impressed. “Whole chapter here.”

“Oh, his skating coach was Russian, Tater darling.” Alicia, who had apparently been a fan of the tv chef forever, said - pushing another book forward. “He did figure skating for years before he moved away from his coach. I can’t remember her name - Cat? Kait? He was apparently very good. Won Nationals. He dedicated a book to her, I just can’t remember which one.”

“Katya Kuznetsov.” Tater supplied nodding, “yes? She only works with best. Good coach -  **very** good. Took mamulya all way to Olympics back in day.” He pulled out his phone and started to dial. 

“Tates, it’s 5am.” Poots pointed out, looking through the recipe books Alicia was still pouring over. Jack had to admit, the pictures looked very good. But pictures in recipe books had to look good. Half of them were fake anyway. He watched a documentary about it once, and they swapped milk out for glue to take photographs of cereal. Pictures lied. 

“And?” Tater said, looking confused. “Is Russian coach. Is already awake.” He walked out of the kitchen as the phone was answered, loud, fast Russian drifting through the hallway. 

“Oh, did they tell you what he was going to be making?” Bob asked, “Because if it’s the cobbler-”

“They didn’t say.” Marty said, looking disappointed. “Gabby already asked me three times, and Holster won’t ask March cause he’s a pussy.”

“My wife could kill you all with her eyebrows.” Holster said, from where his head was stuffed into the back of Jacks fridge. “Seriously, there isn’t anything here but eggs and milk. I took a whole cheat day for this. I need to eat.” 

“Look,” Jack said, pulling the book out of his mother's hands and throwing her a pointed look. “I don’t get what the big deal is. He’s a  _ chef _ . You’ve met a hundred chefs. You’ll meet a hundred more. He can’t be that special.” 

* * *

 

Jack was so, so wrong.

* * *

 

“I am already knowing _**all**_ about Bitty.” Tater was saying to April, the host of ‘Morning America’ as she lead the team over to the kitchen area. Jack was near the back, shoved there (none too gently either) by both Marty and Holster, who were determined to get nearest to whatever pie was going to be served. 

Eric, a good head and shoulders shorter than most of the team, and dressed very casually in a pair of jeans and a button down - sleeves rolled up to show off some highly impressive corded muscle - was beaming at the Russian. “He is almost family to me, I talk this morning to Katya, yes?” He said, nudging Eric playfully. 

“Oh Lord.” Eric muttered, just loud enough for the mic to pick up - and the audience tittered. This wasn’t live - March had taken one look at them and announced they were going to pre-record most of the segments because a whole team of Hockey players on her set was just too damn much. 

“She is telling me all about when Eric was skating - many stories.” He laughed, loud, and Eric blushed hard. Jack wondered at how far down his neck it went - the top button was undone. The slightest hint of clavicle had Jacks gut twisting uncomfortably. “Are you knowing that he once break two toes in middle of routine and keep going?”

Jack did not know this. 

“I did not.” April was saying, smiling and being very gracious despite the fact that Tater was hogging her spotlight. “He once burnt his arm pulling out a hot tray from the oven so bad that his shirt had to be removed at the hospital.” She said, after a beat. “He kept filming and smiling until the segment was over. He almost needed a skin graft.”

The audience gave a loud “ooooh” over this - obviously news to them, as well as Tater. 

“Is tiny but very brave.” He said, grinning down at Eric, who blushed hard again. “Is easy to be brave when very big.” Tater said, then, voice a little more serious. “Not so easy when small. Katya was very sad when you left.”

“It was a long time ago,” Eric said, looking conflicted. “But better for me in the long run. I gave up skating, but I got to be myself.” 

“Like Tater.” Alexi said, giving Eric a giant hug. “Is proud, no?

“Oh yes.” Eric stammered. “Uh, very openly proud.”

Oh. _**Oh**_ , Jack thought, realising - probably several steps behind everyone else, that the Pride Eric and Tater were talking about might be about being  _ Out  _ and Proud. 

“And single too, I am hearing?”

Eric was as red as a beat. “Well, um, I - uh.”

“Kent follow you on twitter.” Tater laughed. “He likes to see you bless people, thinks is funny.” 

Eric’s face fell just slightly, not enough for anyone else to notice, but Jack was paying very close attention to the smaller man who seemed to take up the whole room with his presence. “Oh good lord, look at me, not even giving my congratulations! Winning a Stanley Cup and getting engaged on the same night?” He gave Tater a very sincere look - perhaps a bit too sincere, in Jacks opinion - and smiled. “Kent Parson is a very, very lucky man.” 

“Oh,” Tater laughed, arm slung around Erics shoulders like they had been friends forever. “He is knowing.” A wink. “I make sure he is knowing this.” 

* * *

 

Good Lord, Eric was going to burst into flames in the middle of the studio kitchen and the cause of death was going to be Alexi ‘Tater’ Mashkov. How dare the man be so… so…

His brain, not quite firing on all cylinders, drifted a little, eyes flicking over the other team members he’d been so rude in ignoring, basking in Tater (Eric had specifically been asked to call him Tater, lord) and all his glory. He’d hardly spoken two words to Adam, who was married to his boss, for crying out loud - and then his eyes flitted over to the rest. Most of them were laughing, he hoped more at Tater than at him, but one of them was frowning a little, looking right at Eric. Dark hair, blue eyes and a jawline carved from marble - he looked… very unimpressed. 

Eric felt himself flush - yeah, he’d been flirting with Tater a bit, but nowhere near enough for a look like that. He arched an eyebrow at Tall and Brooding and turned to face the rest of the team. 

“Well, I gotta admit, my daddy’s a football coach so there isn’t a lot of hockey in the Bittle household - ya’ll are gonna have to get some name tags or I’ll just be stuck callin everyone darlin’ and honey for the rest of the segment.” 

“I’m fine with that.” The one that Eric knew was Adam. “Like, legit fine with either. Both. Bro - seriously, you can call me whatever you like, but as long as there is like… pie. Bits, bro. I need pie in my mouth.” 

Eric laughed. Adam was… not what he was expecting a woman like March to be married to, but for some reason he could see it working. If anything, at least she wasn’t going to tower over him in her skyhigh heels. The woman herself suddenly appeared from nowhere, clipboard in her hand. “We’re doing it on a rota, fellas. We’re gonna film all the segments first in the kitchen and the skills challenges, then we’ll go live to do the chat, and finish off with the pies out of the oven.” She paused, looking at each of them in turn. “We do  _ not  _ have the time to have all of you make something. So 4 of you will be in the kitchen and the rest are doing the skill challenges.” She held up her hand at the chorus of (very flattering, Bitty felt) arguments that started and glared. “I am not taking suggestions. Eric will be working with Tater, Jack, Poots and Marty, the rest of you will be following me.” She looked over her shoulder at the crews waiting for her commands. “Get cameras 2,4 and 5 on the kitchen, everyone else is with us on the challenges.” 

“I have been betrayed by my own wife.” Adam said, looking absolutely heartbroken as the other men were lead away, no one looking particularly happy. “My own wife.” 

“We are best looking.” Tater smirked, arm still over Bitty’s shoulders. “Jack and me, and Poots. Marty for old ladies to love.” 

“Fuck you, Tater.” Marty said, before wincing at Eric. “Uh, sorry. My wife’ll kill me if she caught me swearing around Eric Bittle.” 

Bitty laughed, shrugging Taters arm off his shoulder although it was the last thing he wanted to do. “Don’t you worry about a little bad language. My daddy is a college football coach and I grew up surrounded by boys who never quite left that locker-room mentality.”

“No, seriously though, my wife, she’s a huge fan. She’s made me promise to be on my best behaviour.” 

Bitty decided he liked Marty already, the older man seemed comfortable and his smile much warmer than… Jack?... had been. “Jack though, his mom flew down on a red eye to get him to promise to sign like, every cookbook she owns, I’m pretty sure, eh, Zimboni?” 

“Yeah.” Tall and Disapproving said, looking like he would much rather have had all his teeth pulled out than admit to even knowing who Eric was. When it became apparent that was all he was going to add to the conversation, Bitty made the decision to move things along - before March came over and made sure they weren’t just dicking around.

“Well, okay.” He said, clapping his hands together. “We’re gonna start with five pies - one for each of us. We won’t be getting super creative - each pie will have the same crust and we’ll be using some nice and easy fillings.”

* * *

 

Jack wanted to die. Eric was sweeter than sugar and warm as a sunbeam, and Jack just kept messing things up. He tripped over his words, he became hyper aware of his accent being too strong, he just didn’t know what to say. He knew he was coming across as a total asshole and just couldn’t seem to stop the car-crash from happening. Thank the lord for Marty, who seemed to be able to tell that Jack was seriously struggling, and spent most of his time making sure that Jack got to fade a bit into the background - pushing Poots more into the limelight as Jack floundered. 

Jack, stuck off to one side of the counter while Marty and Tater stood by Eric, who had - by the looks of things, 5 pies already made, and 5 in the oven. 

“We don’t eat these ones?” Poots asked, as make-up people touched them up between breaks so that they didn’t look too shiny under the camera lights. 

“Oh no.” Eric said, smiling. “We don’t have the time to fully make, cook and cool 5 pies, so we’ve got back-ups.”

“Thank god.” Marty sighed. “I’m pretty sure I used salt instead of sugar.”

“You did,” Smirked the tiny blond. “But no one’ll ever know. Once we’ve filmed this, I’ll pull out the pies I made before, we’ll add a nice basic lattice, and then I’ll put those in the oven. The pies in there now’ll be cooled and ready to eat for the live show and the other five’ll be finished in time for ya’ll to take some home.”

“And the ones we are making now?” 

“Well, normally those go to the crew but Poots forgot to put butter in his and you used salt instead of sugar for the filling so… probably they won’t actually be edible.” 

Jack watched as Poots almost collapsed in realief. “I didn’t wanna say anything but I knew I forgot something and I was trying to watch you…” He said, looking mortified. “And Jack was already cutting up his apples!” 

“Dontcha worry about it at all.” Eric said, waving a hand. “Trust me, I’ve had much, much worse. You know we had a guest one here once, and I’m a gentleman so I don’t name names, but she was so bad we actually had to cut out half the footage of her in the kitchen and she stabbed me in the leg with a paring knife.” He paused. “I can live with a little less butter, honey.” 

“You got stabbed?” Jack managed to get out, although his voice was a little too harsh, too short. Marty glanced over and tried not to wince. Yeah, Jack knew he was messing it all up. 

“Oh I sure did.” Eric said, sweet as ever. “Just a little. Don’t get yourself all worried about lil ol’ me.” He carried on, before turning back to Marty, closing Jack back off from the conversation. Jack would feel bad about it, but like… Eric had a nice butt, and without the smaller man looking at him, Jack was able to check it out. 

“Is not so much Zimmerman charm,” Tater said, moving horribly quietly for a man of his size. “As car crash.” 

“Shut up.” Jack hissed, although all of Erics attention was on Marty, who was showing the tiny baker something on his phone. Kid pics, more than likely. “He’ll hear you.”

“You like him.” Tater grinned, wickedly. “You are having such a type.” 

“I do not.” Jack replied, although he knew fine well all the evidence was pointing towards it being utterly, completely true.

“Is cute blond who is very good at what he is doing.” Tater said, grinning from ear to ear now. “You know he is very good skater? Funny. Good cook.” He ticked of each item with his oversized fingers. “Tight butt.”

Jack shoved the larger man hard, which very nearly caused Tater to fall into the pies that were sitting on the counter ready to be photographed for the section they had just finished. Eric’s head snapped around lightening fast before Tater held up his hands. “Just big clumsy Russian in tiny kitchen!” He announced. “Jack is saving me from falling into pie crusts.” He looked at Bitty and threw an arm around Jack in the most unsubtle move of all time. “Zimboni is always saving me. Will throw gloves for me all the time. Not even hate me when I steal his boyfriend.” 

“He was my ex.” Jack felt the need to clarify. “We hadn’t been together in years.”

“Still, could hate me.” Tater said, patting Jack on the back. “Good guy. Bad talker.” He winked at Eric, “Cute boys make him stupid.”

* * *

* * *

 

Eric did a little more research when he got home from the studio. Tater had left a frankly hilariously mortified Jack to deal with the aftereffects of his comments - which Bitty ignored like the gent he was - until he got out of his work clothes and into his ‘slumming it’ shorts. He figured that showed a deliberate restraint on his behalf that - should anyone have been around to witness - they should have admired him for.

The internet was a goldmine. Turns out that no one really cares about gay hockey players when they come out two hours after 3 time Stanley Cup Winner Kent Parson and his Giant Russian boyfriend. He hadn’t even been on the ‘top 5 players to come out’ after Tater either - he’d been 6th, because Chris Chow (Captain of a team who wore an insulting amount of teal) had come out as Bi in a tweet three minutes before Jack had posted an instagram picture of him and his parents announcing that he was gay - and very happy, thank you very much.

His mamma was a supermodel. His daddy was some kind of hockey legend. There were some older links about an overdose he’d had as a teenager - medication he’d taken for his anxiety. Looking back on his interactions with Bitty today, he could imagine that perhaps he wasn’t so much broody as _shy_. He apparently spent a while in rehab and then right back to hockey. He had a twitter which he followed exactly 32 people - all of whom he either worked with or was related to. He sometimes tweeted that he was reading a book (history mostly) or watching ‘tape’ or a documentary (also mostly history). His Instagram was mostly photographs he’d taken - very lovely ones too, actually - of cities he visited while playing hockey. Eric, a master of social media and self promotion, felt it lacked a lot of personality. The man’s public image was of a hockey robot.

He’d also done a ESPN Body issue.

Bless Bitty’s little gay heart. 

* * *

 

“You need to follow him on twitter.” Marty was saying, feet kicked up on Jacks coffee table as he dispensed his knowledge. “Then he’ll know you like him.”

“I don’t use it.” Jack said, frowning at his phone. He’d found Eric’s page pretty easily. He posted a LOT. There were tweets from the shoot that morning with selfies Jack hadn’t even noticed him taking. He described meeting the team as ‘giant dorks’ but then there was also a picture of Adam draped over his back like a monkey as Tater tried to lift them both off the ground. Jack was in the back looking rather seriously at something off camera. He hadn’t even realised that Eric had been taking pictures. While Jack had been looking at his feed, Eric had already tweeted 16 more times. “It’ll look weird if I just follow him, right?”

“Nah,” His dad said, pie tin resting on his gut. Jack had kept his word and smuggled out a pie just for Bob - not the peach cobbler, but still. His maman was still gushing over her signed books. He got ‘good son points’ for both. “It’s how all the kids do it. I already tweeted him my pie tin.” A pause as he looked at the empty case. “He followed me back. Mario is furious. I win this round.” 

“He’s subtweeting right now.” Marty said, and Jack wasn’t sure how Marty suddenly knew all this twitter lingo. The kids weren’t old enough for twitter, right? “Something about how the internet is a goldmine.” A pause. “Oh!” He said, shooting upright. “He’s talking about you!”

“What?” Jack said, jerking up, quickly hitting the ‘load more’ at the top of the page, scanning for his name. “No he’s not?”

“Uh, he totally is?” Marty smirked, “He’s talking about how he might need to start watching more hockey, thanks to ESPN.” 

“Thats… not about me.” Jack pointed out, looking around the room when everyone started giving him pitying looks. 

“You did the body issue, bud.” Bob said, after the silence went on for a little longer than Jack liked. 

“Like, four years ago.” It had been… horrible, actually. Jack had always been a stranger in his own body, a chubby kid who grew up too fast - white lines on his thighs, underarms and hips. He only did the shoot because Georgia had wanted to get his profile higher so it would make more sense for her to promote him to co-captain with Tater. 

“He just met you today though.” 

“Look,” Marty said, “Georgia is always going on about us having a social presence. She’ll get off your back for like, a whole month if you start following people on twitter.”

“Don’t make it too obvious though.” Bob, said, leaning forward. “Like, add a couple other people too.”

“Ooh, yeah,” Marty nodded. “Like add Holsters wife. It should have ‘suggested people’ at the side.” He gave Jacks dad a nod. “Smart move, Bob.” He said, looking impressed. “He’ll look less thirsty.” 

Jack was completely lost. He had half a beer on the table. He certainly wasn’t thirsty. 

He clicked ‘follow’ anyway. 

* * *

 

Jack was under strict instructions from both his parents to use his twitter account at least once a day. It wasn’t allowed to be about Hockey. Once a week he had to take a ‘selfie’. He got that one right out of the way first of all - grabbing Marty before he headed home and taking a snap of them together with his dad. 

“Like, say something about being embarrassed your old man is more into twitter than you are.” Bob suggested. “That’s a kinda good opener.” 

Jack didn’t really care - about four minutes after Marty left and his dad went up to bed, Eric Bittle followed him back. Maybe this twitter thing wasn’t so bad after all. 

* * *

* * *

 

“I saw a great dane in the park.” The tweet said - picture attached. Dear lord, was the man on a tweeting regime? Bitty actually despaired. He certainly wasn’t expecting Jack to slide into his DM’s after he followed him back, but this single tweet nonsense was killing him. At least the picture was cute. Eric lived for cute animal pics on the internet. 

“Seriously wondering if making a cobbler for myself is #treatyoself or #toomuch” typed out, fingers flying over the screen as he wandered into the kitchen. He’d been working on zucchini recipes for a few days - March had been right about this ‘neverending gourd’ drama online, he’d been cackling at the memory of his Aunt Phelps’ mutated pumpkins that just… never seemed to stop growing, but Lord, if he had to look at one more squash he was gonna climb into the oven. A few moments later, his phone chimed with a message. 

Eric only had notifications on for people he followed back - he tried to keep up at first but the sheer number of tweets he got per day were overwhelming. 

> @BadBobby @BittyBakes I have heard stories about this peach cobbler… #treatbadbob

Eric paused. His followers were already retweeting 'Bad' Bob’s hashtag with gusto, the man had a seriously good twitter following for an older dude, which Eric respected. 

> @BittyBakes I’m not sure if #treatbadbob is possible. Can you UPS a pie to Canada?
> 
> @BadBobby @BittyBakes Bud, I’m still in town visiting @JackLZims #treatbadbob 
> 
> @JackLZims My father is genuinely using twitter to get pie. He has zero shame.
> 
> @BadBobby that’s so sad, @JackLZims play Despacito. 

Eric cackled like a madman as he started pulling out the ingredients he needed. It wasn’t really peach season but he figured he could cope with what he had.  He piled everything on the table and snapped a quick picture, posting it up. 

> @BittyBakes I guess I can #treatbadbob this once. Since he’s still in town. 

* * *

 

Jack walked up to the apartment door - nice old style building but no doorman, he noted, which was weird and probably unsafe if Eric had such a huge following - and stood for a few moments trying to get his breathing under control. His dad, who apparently was trying to wingman him through social media had “Slid into Erics DM’s” which Jack hoped wasn’t anything like how it actually sounded, and spoke to Eric about this cobbler. Managed to get the guys address _and_ permission for Jack to go over and collect said dessert. 

His maman had told him what to wear - not a lot different from what she told him to take to the shoot the other day. A pair of jeans (that he had to get tailored to fit over his ass, which Sidney had made him promise never to tell another living soul about as he handed over the name of the guy he used) and a simple black Henley that was enough like what he wore under his hockey gear that he felt comfortable enough, even though it was a little tight over his arms. 

He paused his steady breathing when he realised that both his parents had sent him out here to achieve one of two things.

Get him a boyfriend or Pimp him out for pie. He rapped on the door after another steadying breath. He was fine with both. Both outcomes resulted in him spending a little more time with Eric Bittle. He may, however, need to talk to his parents about a few boundary issues that appeared to be cropping up in his personal life. Mind you - he did need all the help he could get. 

For a few moments there was no sound, until the tell-tale click of a lock being turned and the door opened. 

“Jack?” Eric said, looking very, very confused. 

And wearing very, very short shorts and a tank top. Very _red_ short shorts. Jack could feel his pulse kick up a gear, like he was about to be tapped in for ice time in the middle of a game. 

“My dad?” He managed, before having to swallow with an audible click. “Told me to come over and collect the pie? Cobbler.” He paused. “He told you, right?”

Jack could actually see the moment that realisation dawned on Eric's face. “Oh dear lord, I thought he said he would send you over after it was done!” He said, throwing the door open wider and ushering him in.

It was a nice apartment - much more lived in and cozy than Jacks, who had simply pointed to a page in a catalogue and said “I’ll take that.” Eric had couches that looked deliberately mismatched, with bright coloured throws, rugs and throw cushions everywhere. It wasn’t messy, but cluttered in a way that spoke of someone who spent more time living than cleaning up every mug or making sure that the books on the coffee table were sitting at the correct angle. He had art on the walls, much brighter and vibrant than the generic pieces Jacks interior designer had picked. “Gosh, I’m so sorry - I’m not… it’s… god lord I’m dressed like a gay hobo.” Eric said, stopping dead in his tracks and looking down at what he was wearing. 

“I’m not an expert.” Jack managed. “But, uh, I’m pretty sure you don’t.” He paused as Eric turned back to face him, a little slower - a little surer. 

“You do?”

“Uh, sure, bud.” Jack nodded, fully aware that his face was blotched with unattractive red patches and his ears were on fire. “Um. You look good. Fine. The shorts are fine, I mean.”

The look Eric gave him was… calculating. “Well, I still gotta make the cobbler, if you want to help?” He asked, after a pause too long for Jacks heart rate. “You were the only one who actually managed to follow my recipe the other week - despite the mess you made of the lattice.” His voice was light though - and a little playful, which was more than Jack was expecting. 

He smiled back. He could do this. “Well, uh, maybe I need a little more supervision in the kitchen eh?”

* * *

 

Take one giant shy man with a butt that will not quit and sprinkle some flour on him. Bitty didn’t have a chance. 

* * *

 

Jack still had to tweet once a day with something that wasn’t about Hockey. Being full captain of the Falconers after Tater had retired to spend more time with his husband and kids had upped his public presence even more. He did okay most weeks - posting about stupid stuff his teammates got up to, or making fun of his dad. He also had to post a selfie a week.  He managed to get both in one when he made his most popular post of all time.

There he was, camera aimed more over his shoulder - only catching half of his slightly red face from his morning jog and creased in laughter. In the background, running from what appeared to be a very, very pissed off canadian goose, was Eric Bittle, face a mask of terror.

> @JackLZims looks like @BittyBakes hasn’t managed to charm EVERY Canadian he’s met this trip #happyanniversarybud 

**Author's Note:**

> Getting back into writing has been a lot harder than I thought. Thanks for all the messages of support and comments on the last fic - man, those are like fuel to the fire under my butt to get back into this!   
> I had a lot of fun writing this actually, although I think I still need to find a way of getting those twitter convos looking better. I read mostly on mobile and adding pictures can mess with the width of the story so I get annoyed with that when reading fic myself, and I know if you download them pictures don't always show up.  
> Any hints or tips on making it look nicer without adding pictures would be ideal!!  
> Prompt: Angry Goose - nonny on Tumblr.  
> I had a visual in mind when I saw this prompt but no idea how to get it in there - I hope I did it justice!!


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